


Don't Know Why I Didn't Come

by sleepinnude



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Canon, Angst, M/M, sadie hawkins dance head canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-07
Updated: 2013-04-07
Packaged: 2017-12-07 19:04:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/751961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepinnude/pseuds/sleepinnude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Which Sam is Blaine's date for the much-talked about Sadie Hawkins Dance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Know Why I Didn't Come

It’s easy, Sam thinks, to count of the shades and shapes of his love for Blaine. For the black of his hair curling free, the bright pink of his cheeks, the dark blue of his shirt, untucked. The way his cheek fits against Sam’s collarbone and his one hand curves over Sam’s shoulders.

Even the red-purple of a bruise under Blaine’s eye and the scarlet across his bottom lip. Even the helpless hitch in Blaine’s breathing and the way he spasms closer to Sam every few moments. It’s in the blood marking over Sam’s split knuckles too, and the crooked angle of his nose, most likely broken, and the red of his eyes. He hefts Blaine a little closer into his body, nosing carefully into his hair. “I’m so sorry about all of this, Blaine,” he says in that raspy way his voice goes when he’s upset.

Blaine shakes his head and if his voice is miserable, well, Sam things they’re entitled to it. “S’not your fault. Should have known.” He sighs and makes a pained noise at the back of his throat before turning his face into Sam’s neck.

Sam wants to say a million things. He wants to tell Blaine how long he’s been waiting to be out with him, how excited he had been for this night, how beautiful he thought Blaine was, how much it hurt that those assholes took it away from them. What he ends up saying is a choked out, “Just sucks,” into the mess of curls, one hand smoothing up to stroke over the patch of skin at the nape of Blaine’s neck. Blaine shudders at the touch, but presses into it so Sam sets up a steady rhythm, soothing like he does with his baby sister. 

The seat of his pants is damp from the earlier rain that had soaked the asphalt and it’s going to be at least another ten minutes before his dad got there to pick him up. He’s got a busted nose, ruined knuckles, a bruised stomach and scraped knees. Blaine is worse off because while one of the guys had held Sammy down and whaled on him, the other two took turns securing him and taking shots. They had each gotten their own good hits in, him and Blaine. It was Blaine that made the assholes run off finally, twisting his body while his arms were being held behind his back to nail one of them with a kick to the gut. Regardless, Sam had the boy, his friend, that he had been ass over teakettle in love with for something like four months in his lap. He had asked Sam to the Sadie Hawkins Dance.

This was not how there night was going to end.

Sam shifts to stand and Blaine makes a noise of protest, fingers digging into his shoulders. Sam shushes him gently and gets to his feet with some effort, pain twinging in his lower abdomen. Blaine is looking at him with big, shadowed eyes, hair falling into his forehead. Sam can’t help but smile because but God is he ever stunning and crouches down a little. Brushing the hair from Blaine’s face, Sam holds his hand out to Blaine and says, “We never did get our dance. What do you say, Mr. Anderson?” He says it like one of the agents from The Matrix and a brief grin lights up Blaine’s face.

Blaine slides his hands over Sam’s and they work their bruised and bloodied fingers together. Sam pulls him close and they’re a tangle of hands on hips on shoulders, hips bumping and toes catching on toes. There’s no music but the far distant laughter of kids on the other side of school. Crepe paper from the decorations in the gym has drifting out into the night, strewn across the grass and curb.

When the headlight’s of Sam’s dad’s car bounce over them, their still huddled together, Sam with his head bent into Blaine’s face, hands on each other’s hips. They stopped moving awhile back, just swaying and then barely rocking. There are tear stains over Blaine’s cheeks and he can smell the blood. The headlights click off and in the ten seconds he has before his dad comes rushing over to ask what happened, are they okay, who did this, Sam tilts his chin and brushes his lips against Blaine’s. Blaine makes a soft, surprised noise through his nose before returning the careful pressure.

That’s all it is before the break away, exhaling and pulling fingers through palms. And then Sam’s father is there, holding their chins in his hands and shaking his hands over their bruises and cuts and promising to talk to school boards and administrators.

He kisses Blaine again, the next day. Shy but filled with smiles. And the day after that, more times than he can count. And then the next day is Monday and Blaine isn’t at school because he’s transferred. And left Sam all alone.


End file.
